A Delicious Offer
by Igrayne01
Summary: One-Shot. Aeryn Cousland, Zevran, Alistair, and Morrigan visit the Pearl, where they encounter Isabela, the duelist. EDITED: I added more to the story after realizing there was a major plot hole, so it's finally complete.


**Disclaimer: I was playing some more "Dragon Age" today when I suddenly got inspired to write a small one-shot about the scene with Isabela, the duelist in the Pearl. I hope you enjoy reading it!**

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Her graceful fingers shuffled the cards with expert precision, dealing a hand to the short, stocky man sitting directly across the table from her as the faraway sounds of amorous athletics penetrated the silence. Although the aural disturbances created by some of the Pearl's more lively denizens normally would have set her loins ablaze—insatiable as her appetites for such things were—she had achieved perfect concentration and was able to drown out the sounds by sheer will if not by the Maker's grace.

"Well, they certainly are enjoying themselves, aren't they?"

The words hit their mark, as intended, stealing her less-than-clever opponent's concentration away long enough for her to bungle the cards a little. Looking embarrassed at the sounds around him, the man reached for a large pitcher of ale that the brothel's attentive proprietor, Sanga, had set before them to calm his frazzled nerves. He took a long swig and studied his hand of cards, ever mindful of the large pile of sovereigns that had amassed at the center of the table. With every second that ticked away, his claim on the money dwindled a little bit more…

"Shall we reveal them?"

With a nod, he indicated she was to go first. She set down her winning hand on the table with a smug smile, tossing her head a little to preen like an utterly self-absorbed little songbird. The unmistakable swelling of pride only served to compound the man's annoyance with the situation and the way his luck had gone south so quickly. He groaned aloud.

"Well, how about that? Undefeated _once again_! Shall we play another hand?"

"No, that will do," he interrupted, glowering up at her. "You're a lousy cheat, you are! Losing five sovereigns was enough, but ten? Ten?! My wife will have a fit."

"Perhaps you had better leave out the part about how you won it, then. I'm sure she would be thrilled to know your philandering landed you at the mercy of the wickedest card sharp ever to spring from Rivain." As she said this, her eager hands encompassed the small stockpile, drawing the winnings toward the small purse she kept tableside for just such occasions.

"Swindler, more like," he spat.

Isabela's hand was on the hilt of her sword in an instant, her fingers curling about the intricate metalwork. In one blindingly fast movement, she had drawn it out and brought the steel point of the blade to just below his chin. The man gulped, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing like a cork under the skin of his throat.

"Care to say that again?"

The man, now irritated to no avail, had but to snap his fingers. Immediately, a small battalion of hired thugs emerged from their hiding places at various corners of the room, surrounding her. Dusting off her short, knee-skimming silver armor, Isabela let out a frustrated huff.

"Well, now look what you've done! You really ought not to have done that!"

In an instant, the talented duelist was on her feet and whirling to face her attackers, two crude silver swords equipped in her hands. Chaos descended upon the tiny alcove of the bustling brothel as the slashing of swords, fierce hiss of whirled spears, splintering of pikes, and whistle of arrows filled the relative silence. A heavy body collided with the table, sending shards of the glass pitcher flying every which way. Rather than be slashed to ribbons by exploding glass, Isabela tucked herself into an impressively shaped ball and rolled away beneath one of the other tables. What followed was a lot more screaming, a loud crash as two thugs lost their balance, and a highly offensive expletive-laden outburst from her former opponent.

Just as she was gaining her bearings, a single leather boot shuffled toward her. From her vantage point beneath the table, she could glimpse the intricate embossing on the very tip of the shoe, which added depth and dimension to what would have otherwise been an unremarkable piece of footwear. As the foot came to a stop before her, she was certain she was about to be kicked free of her temporary cover.

As the chair came flying off overhead, she found herself staring up into the eyes of a face she half expected never to see again. Surely the Maker had a sense of humor, because standing there before her was an Antivan elf with whom she had been intimately acquainted many years ago. In fact, her most vivid memory of him involved her watching him effortlessly vault the rooftops of her husband's residence in nothing but a pair of worn-out boots as the wheezing old man followed in hot pursuit. Fortunately, he was now attired in more appropriate gear—fortunate only because he had an entourage with him this time, and it would have been _incredibly_ awkward otherwise.

_Well, this should be interesting._

"And look who we have here. Zevran Arainai."

"Isabela."

His eyes sized her up, colliding with her gaze.

"Your arrival is quite the surprise. Have you come to apologize at long last for leaving me bereft of my lord husband and then vanishing without a trace?"

"You know it was just business, Isabela."

Business. _Right_. Judging from the delightful number of positions they had sampled that day, to Zevran the line between "business" and "pleasure" was oft blurred. Was it hot in here, or was it merely her imagination?

"…Business that turned out well for you, I see. You inherited the ship, I take it?"

"Oh, so you noticed her down in the harbor, did you?"

"Such a magnificent vessel is scarce to be missed, my dear."

With an imperious toss of the head, she said, "Yes, well, I suppose I never did much like the _greasy_ bastard." She paused and corrected herself. "And the _Siren's Call_ treats me far better than she ever did him."

"Yes, _indeed_ she does," he whispered huskily, his lusty eyes taking their generous fill of her exposed legs beneath the armored skirt, tanned and taut from the rigors of a harsh, wild lifestyle. The slow upward motion of his gaze indicated to her his mind was delving into much naughtier corridors that he no longer had access to…

In the midst of their conversation, Isabela had paid no heed to the companions who now stood beside him—or the fact that her attackers had been subdued and tied up in one of the corners. She glanced over at the unconscious bodies propped up against one of the tables and smiled.

"You came at a fortunate time."

"Ah, yes, opportune arrivals are something of a specialty with me," Zevran teased as his distinctive accent came in her ear, distracting her. Isabela giggled, her eyes focusing on the three who stood behind the Antivan elf. A short brunette woman who posed little threat to her physically, an embarrassed-looking templar knight, and a woman whose eyes could turn the blood in one's veins to ice with a mere glance.

"You certainly do keep interesting company these days, Zev."

Bristling at the edge of mockery in her tone, Aeryn Cousland immediately strode forward with a look of murderous rage on her face. Drake skin armor covered her entire body except for her head, which was exposed to reveal the most beguiling set of dark eyes Isabela had ever seen. Even with her face scrunched up in such an unbecoming manner, it was plain to see there was beauty to be found there. She had misjudged her on first sight.

_Oh, my… This is going to be interesting indeed._

Somewhat accusatorily, Aeryn spat, "You two know each other?"

Before the smart-mouthed duelist could say anything particularly incriminating, Zevran jumped in with, "Indeed. This is Isabela, queen of the eastern seas and the sharpest blade in Llomerryn."

"Oh? That so? And just how sharp _is_ her blade, Zev?"

Alistair merely chuckled and leaned over to whisper into the acerbic witch-woman's waiting ear in a sing-song tone of voice, "Somebody's _jeaaaaa-lous_. Meow!"

"I would think that ironic coming from you, save that your powers of perception do you credit."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment," Alistair drawled.

"If you must."

Zevran laughed aloud. "My, wherever are your manners, my fair Aeryn?"

Her crossed arms—coupled with a scowl—seemed to indicate her displeasure. Zevran continued, undaunted, choosing to not read too deeply into his traveling companion's unusual behavioral nuances. He adopted the usual cocky grin that decorated his features when knowing he got under Aeryn's skin—and if anything was chafing at her right now, it was his insistence that they spend another minute longer in this vile woman's presence.

"And Isabela, my dear, you will no doubt be amused to discover that this beautiful woman with whom I travel is a Grey Warden."

"A Grey Warden?" Her voice gained an octave in depth. "Charmed."

With a seductive inclination of her head, Isabela tipped her chin down to allow herself a chance to work her charms on the young woman and the templar. The witch-woman was beautiful enough, certainly, but she was no Warden, and therefore—in her estimation—no challenge. Gazing up at the two Wardens provocatively from under curiously flecked lashes, her gold-rimmed irises gleaming up at them, she positioned her slender, well-built figure to the best of their viewing advantage. Aeryn just looked embarrassed and averted her eyes, while Alistair's jaw slackened a little. If Morrigan hadn't reveled in the sight of him looking so helpless and stupid, she probably would have reached out and punched shut that dangling mouth of his.

"So… _how_ do the two of you know each other?" Aeryn blurted without thinking.

_Ask the question you don't want to know the answer to…_

The woman merely smiled boldly, dispensing with the coquettish act for the moment.

"We go back a long time. Don't we, Zev?"

The Antivan elf nodded his assent, turning his face toward the sound of her annoyingly trilling voice. The light from a nearby hearth blazed, highlighting his impossibly perfect features and the one tattoo that snaked down over his cheek in a spiral pattern. The past few nights at camp, Aeryn had let her tongue do the walking, beginning with the tattoo on his cheek and continuing down the labyrinthine maze of patterns hidden beneath his armor to the most sensitive parts of his body. She wondered if Isabela had done the same, if her full-lipped mouth had shared in the delights she had hoped only to claim for herself.

Almost instantly, jealousy overtook her.

"Indeed we do, Isabela, my dear."

"You remember all the fun we used to have together?"

"I am unlikely to forget any time soon."

Aeryn's arched brow raised incredulously once again.

"I repeat: exactly _how_ did you two meet?"

"Should I explain, Zev, or should you?"

"Perhaps we should flip a coin to decide these things?"

"Perhaps we should. But since you saved my life and I am in your debt, consider it paid if I do all the talking…"

* * *

They lay sprawled out upon the bed, limbs all askew, as though they were two limp marionettes who had been maneuvered into impossible positions their strings couldn't handle. Their breathing labored, the two lovers merely gazed at the ceiling, basking in the afterglow of love as the sweet aroma of their mingled scents filled the morning air. Zevran was the first to roll over and regain his strength, kissing fistfuls of her rich auburn hair.

"You'll have to go. My husband will be back soon. And if Faran finds you here, he will kill you," she said without any real sense of urgency, as though she had simply been reciting the contents of a book to him. One of her arms grasped the translucent blanket to her breasts as she fished about with the other hand for her hastily discarded armor. The window was drawn to let in a soft breeze and a little bit of sunlight, the gossamer curtains billowing inward, just barely brushing over their naked bodies as Zevran pressed closer to her. His featherlike kisses trailed down her neck where they came to an enticing stop and, licking at her exposed throat, he began to use his tongue to massage the sensitive skin there.

_The nervy bastard, _Isabela cursed.

"Oh, _Isabela_," he purred in the thick, honeyed accent of his homeland, Antiva, "Tell me why, in the Maker's name, you suffer such a fool for a husband when you know it is _me_ you want above all others?"

"Because." She spoke the word with natural ease and in a flavorless, enunciated Rivaini accent that paled in comparison to the exotic mystique of his own dialect.

"Because?"

A smile tugged at her lips, her shining auburn hair falling into a perfect cascade of curls behind her shoulders. Pressing his slightly parted lips to the sensitive skin on her back, he began moving his tongue in teasing circular motions, sending a sweet crescendo of pleasure rippling through every nerve ending in her body.

"You want the truth?" she said, her fingernails digging into the skin of his back, a motion that elicited a sharp cry of pain and pleasure all rolled into one. Zevran's mouth widened to release an oh-so-satisfied sigh, the groan rolling over his tongue and beyond his pursed lips. "Well, I suppose it's because I'm a romantic at heart… not unlike yourself."

"The _real_ reason, Isabela."

Crashing back against the pillow with a frustrated groan, Isabela covered her eyes with one hand and peeked through her fingers.

"The money. And sometimes—when I'm drunk enough, mind you—the sex is good."

He shook his head with a cynical click of the tongue.

"For shame, Isabela. Were that true, I would probably not be here."

"No you would not." With a forceful, pleading kiss, she begged him, "Make love to me again, Zev!"

"And I've not even had time to recover from our previous exertions!" he marveled with a self-satisfied smirk.

Her tongue flicked out to moisten his earlobe before ensnaring it fully between her teeth. Suddenly, a shudder so loud it could be heard for half a mile off resounded throughout the house as the door below came crashing closed. She jumped back from Zevran, clutching the bed sheet to her chest as the footsteps came stomping up.

Drat. So soon? And he wasn't quite sure where he had put his sword in his haste to knock boots with this feisty little temptress...

"He's home! You have to hide! Get under the bed!"

"Don't be ridiculous, my dear. I will not use my stealth skills to such… _dubious_ ends."

She pushed herself up to her knees, running a hand through her hair.

"You ass! Do something! Don't just sit there like a fool. Need I repeat that he is a _very large, very angry man who won't hesitate to kill you upon contact_?"

"Well, since you put it that way…"

He looked about for something to defend himself with, but since he had misplaced his sword, running seemed like the logical alternative. He would return to finish the job later and the Crows would be none the wiser for it.

"Get a move on!"

He slid his legs over the side of the bed, leaning down to shove one foot into his shoe. He scarcely had the other boot on his foot when the door burst open, knocking him from his perch on the side of the bed. Then all he remembered was screaming, a loud crash, and running stark naked along a rather precarious foothold at the top of the house, teetering to and fro as Faran fumbled clumsily after him. If there was one thing good that had come from his rather revealing tumble down the roof and onto the ground below, it was that he dove head-first into a relatively soft bale of hay that cushioned his landing.

His most vivid memory of Isabela was her bedraggled head hanging out the window as Faran pulled her forcibly back into the room with a tug on her hair. With alarm, he watched her arms flail about and then the window shut. Now was his chance. He crept up the nearby alley, starkers, and pilfered a small knife from a nearby table on which a blacksmith was displaying his wares. Thankfully, his crafty hands successfully evaded detection. Running with the dagger up the narrow staircase of the complex, he stopped immediately outside the door out of which the most screaming was emanating.

He was lucky he had been able to combine business with pleasure this time; the last time he crept into bed with the wife of one of his targets, it had not boded well for him... he still had the scars to prove it, although they had faded to nearly indecipherable marks. But Isabela had trusted him almost completely, never suspecting his malicious intentions. Armed with nothing but the knife, he kicked in the door and found a startled-looking Faran in the process of mounting his wife from behind. At the sight of Zev, her eyes widened slightly.

"Help!" she seemed to mouth, but his attention was fully focused upon the meaty target he had now trained in his sights.

With a guttural wrench that tore from his throat, Zevran planted the dagger into the man's breast, though not before suffering the iron choke hold of a scorned husband. As his hands continued to apply pressure to the elf's neck, squeezing the life from him, the elf silently prayed for the Maker's forgiveness for his sins. It was as though his prayers were answered; seconds later, Faran fell backward onto the bed in a pool of his own blood.

"Maker's breath!" Isabela screamed, her hands covering her mouth. "What have you done?"

"Only what I was contracted to do, my dear."

"You mean you're a... a..."

"Yes."

"I said he was a nasty bastard... I didn't say I wanted you to murder him!" she exclaimed in a high-pitched tone of voice, quite unaware of her own hysterics.

"Even if you had, the contract had already been bought and paid for... so you see, my dear, what you said would have mattered little to me."

"You ass!" She used her fists to pummel him repeatedly.

"Isabela," his voice purred, "You wound me."

"I want you out of my house now! Go!"

"Don't I even get a parting kiss?"

"GO!"

With mock sadness, Zevran retreated from the room with his clothing in his arms, leaving Isabela alone in the massive bed with only the stone cold body to comfort her.

* * *

"That's quite a story. I'm _so_ glad you felt the need to divulge every little detail," Aeryn said through clenched teeth as Isabela finished her wanton tale and tossed her head animatedly from side to side. She and Zevran locked eyes, sharing a good laugh over it, but Alistair and Morrigan, on the other hand, seemed just as unimpressed with her as Aeryn currently was.

"There's many more where that story came from, I can assure you. I am a woman with many… _pervasive_ appetites."

"One was enough, thanks."

"Certainly."

Folding his hands before him, Zevran leaned in to the attractive duelist across the table. For a moment, Aeryn swore she saw their hands touch and their fingers interlace, though she wasn't sure whether to chalk it up to a trick of her imagination. Perhaps she was being overly paranoid?

"Look, Isabela, perhaps we should get to the heart of the matter… my fair Warden here has come seeking your tutelage."

"My… tutelage?"

"She aspires to become a duelist like you."

A smile instantly brightened her features.

"I am flattered that you wish to learn from me, _sweet thing_." Aeryn practically cringed at the moniker. "But you seem to lack a particular… grace that is required. I can teach you some basics; perhaps you can pass it on to someone who might be interested in what I have to offer."

"Fine. Great. Whatever."

"Excellent! We'll begin at once, then. I do, however, wish to get to know my potential student better before jumping headlong into training…"

With trepidation, Aeryn asked, "What did you have in mind? Want to go for a quick roll in the hay or something?"

"It would surely be rude of me to decline such a… _delicious_ offer," the woman said huskily. Her hand slipped out from under the table. "You can even join us, too, Zev, for old time's sake. Shall we?"

"Maker's breath, I was _joking_!"

Zevran chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Isabela, you and your ridiculous appetites. Just leave the poor girl be."

Aeryn's patience was beginning to wear thin, and her companions were also beginning to take note of her alarming change in behavior. So instead of grilling her further, Isabela took her to the side and went through a number of forms that the young woman was able to adopt rather quickly. From his seat at the table, Zevran observed the two women in training, his mind running wild with thoughts of what he'd like to do to the Warden once they were back at camp. The way her shapely little bottom was curving in and out, teasing him with every little movement, was almost too much to bear.

He was at last granted a momentary reprieve when Aeryn walked back over to his side, plopping down across the table from him. After she thanked Isabela for the lesson, the woman departed, though not before planting a big wet one on Zevran's waiting cheek.

"Well that was… interesting…"

"Interesting? Yes. But if I be might so bold, my Warden, you look more than a little offended."

"Hah. That's putting it lightly."

The salacious grin returned to his face.

"Isabela is… a free spirit. She merely enjoys the company of others."

"Namely you. She plastered herself all over you. All 'Zev this' and 'Zev that.' Oh, Zev, help me find my brain because I obviously have none when I'm around you, sweet Zev! Oooooooooh!" She threw a hand over her temples in a mock swoon.

"If I didn't know any better, my Warden, I would say that you are jealous of her attentions, fleeting as they are."

Before she could speak, he added, "You needn't be. She will find another to pester in my absence. You can be sure of it."

"That had better be a promise," Aeryn said, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss that rivaled all the previous kisses they had ever shared. She was so wrapped up in the kiss that she didn't even notice Alistair standing over them, clearing his throat obnoxiously.

"Uhm… pardon? 'Scuse me? If you could pry your lips from one another for even a moment, then we could get going back to the Market District. We've much to do."

"Yes, we do," Aeryn said dreamily, her eyes so focused upon Zevran's face that she lost herself completely in his gaze. As the four adventurers made their way toward the front exit of the Pearl, the Grey Warden was glad to leave this one memory behind them. She reached out with her pinky finger and grabbed hold of Zevran's hand as they fell into step with one another. Without thinking, his fingers curled around her own and gave them a slow, meaningful squeeze.


End file.
